


got the flu

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sickfic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Dean frowns again, and then he’s right in front of you, crouched down next to the couch, reaching out until the back of his hand presses against your forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”“Kind of why I was asleep when you got here.”He narrows his eyes. “Still cracking jokes even when you’re burning up. I see how this is gonna be.”





	got the flu

“Knock, knock!” A voice outside your door says, and you groan, pulling the blanket further over your head. You forgot today was the day Sam and Dean were coming to get you so you could spend a few weeks at the Bunker with them.

You’ve been busy with hunts of your own and somehow in the midst of all that, caught a cold that is refusing to go away. All you want to do is go back to sleep for the next hundred hours, but now you have company.

“Kid, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to break the door down.” Dean warns.

“I change my mind, go away.” You say, and you can hear him chuckle through the door. 

“You alive in there?”

You get up and wrap yourself in your blanket, trudging to the door. When you pull it open, the smile falls off Dean’s face. “Barely.” You tell him, responding to his question.

“Jesus, kid. Why didn’t you call?” He asks, frowning. He ushers you back inside with a hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back, and you shrug.

“Been sleeping a lot. Forgot you were coming.” You look behind him before he shuts the front door. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He’s flirting with a waitress at the diner down the road. I thought it would be a quick trip to get you and head back there, but…” he trails off. “You should probably stay here.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I don’t want to get you both sick.” 

“Not your fault.” He says with a smile, but you can tell he’s disappointed that you won’t be coming back with them. “I mean– unless you want to come with us anyway. You can chill out, sleep all you want. Might be quieter there.” He says, gesturing towards the neighbor’s apartment where music can be heard through the wall. 

You flop down on the couch. “Um– there’s a good chance you might have to carry me to the car.” 

Dean frowns again, and then he’s right in front of you, crouched down next to the couch, reaching out until the back of his hand presses against your forehead. “You’ve got a fever.” 

“Kind of why I was asleep when you got here.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Still cracking jokes even when you’re burning up. I see how this is gonna be.” 

Dean goes into the bedroom and finds your overnight bag that you’ve had packed in anticipation of this trip, and asks if you need anything else. He helps you gather your stuff from the bathroom, and leaves the room to let you get dressed in some sweats. 

“If you pass out, don’t hit your head.” He says, grinning at you when you halfheartedly throw a pillow at him. 

.

.

.

An hour or so and lecture later, you’re on the road. Sam gave you all kinds of grief for not taking better care of yourself, but finally gave it a rest when you threatened to cough all over his stuff if he didn’t leave you alone.

It’s dark now, and you wake up in the backseat of the Impala, disoriented. You figure you’ve got to be almost to the bunker by now, and you struggle to sit up - the warm interior and hum of the engine better than any lullaby. 

You glance at the front and see Sam asleep, and then watch Dean for a minute, the left side of his face illuminated by the lights of passing cars and overhead lights on the road. 

You don’t do this often – stare at him like this – but you can’t help it. You’ve had a thing for Dean as long as you can remember, and for a long time you’ve been pushing your feelings aside, determined not to freak him out. Two hunters together is never going to be a story with a happy ending. You know that as well as you’re sure he does. 

His voice brings you out of your thoughts as he meets your eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Hey, kid. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head. “Not really. Need to sleep in a bed.” 

“We’ll be there soon.” He says, and then, quieter, “I’m glad you decided to come with us. I– we’ve missed you.” He clears his throat after, like he can’t physically tell you he misses you. It makes you smile. 

“I’ve missed you too.” You say, emphasizing that you’re talking about _him_. You miss Sam too, sure, but he’s asleep. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

His smile is soft, like he’s trying to hide it, but it’s there all the same. You fight back a grin of your own, and sink back into the nest of blankets you’ve made in the backseat. You would kill for a real bed and some cough medicine, but a smile from Dean is just as good.

You get to the bunker about an hour later, and tear yourself away from your phone long enough to get your blankets and get inside. Dean goes with you the whole way, his hand on the small of your back. 

“I’ve got some soup with your name on it,” Sam calls as you pass the kitchen, and you smile. 

“Come on, we’ll set you up in the library. It’s warmer in there.” Dean says and you follow him to the now-familiar warm, cozy room. The couch in there is unbelievable. You’ve spent an incredible amount of time trying to figure out how you could sneak it out to your apartment without them noticing. 

Dean disappears down the hall where the bedrooms are once you’re settled on the couch, and he comes back with a heated blanket. You could cry. 

“Don’t get attached. Pretty sure this is Mom’s.” 

You push it off right away. “I don’t want to get my germs all over it!”

“Relax. We’ll figure out how to wash it. Or shit, I’ll buy a new one. You’re freezing, and this’ll help get that fever down.”

Sam comes with the soup a few minutes later, and the three of you hunker down, putting on some documentary series that Sam has been into lately. Dean seems into it as well, and you promptly fall asleep. 

When you wake up, it’s dark in the room. Sam’s gone, and you’re curled into Dean’s side. His neck looks bent at an uncomfortable angle, but his breathing is deep with sleep. His arm is around your waist comfortably and you relax into his hold as you feel your eyes start to droop.

There’s a thought in the back of your mind that you’ll probably get him sick if you don’t kick him out of the room, but you don’t want him to go. If this is all you’re ever going to get, you’re going to take it.

A few hours later, you wake up when he moves, and when your eyes flutter open, he freezes. “Shit. Sorry.” His voice is low and raspy, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

His hand goes to your forehead again, and you lean into it a little in your cold medicine-induced delirium. He chuckles. “Easy, sweetheart. You don’t feel like you’ve got a fever.” His hand moves from your forehead to your cheek, absently stroking your skin with his thumb. Your breath catches.

He seems to realize what he’s doing, and stops himself, swallowing hard. He moves away from you, and you already miss his warmth. “You should go back to sleep. I’m gonna shower.”

“It’s early still–” You protest, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

“I’ll be back in a little while.” 

He’s gone before you can even begin to figure out what just happened. 

.

.

.

You sleep most of the next day.

Sam comes to check on you once, but you don’t see Dean again, not for most of the day. You try not to take it personally, but the guy told you he’d be back, and now he’s clearly avoiding you.

You take a shower in the afternoon and feel like a human again by dinnertime, so you decide to head to the kitchen to see if you can whip up something to eat. Your appetite is back, but your strength really isn’t, so you’re looking for something easy.

When you enter the room, Dean’s there, and he freezes up at first when he sees you, though he hides it well. “Hey.” He says, and you roll your eyes, going past him to get to the fridge.

“Hey. You wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me? I mean, I know I _look_ like I have the plague, but–”

“I’m not avoiding you.” He says quickly, but sheepishly. 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Dean falters at the look on your face, which you’re sure shows you’re hurt. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s never avoided you before, and you’ve been in some seriously awkward situations with him before. “I’m sorry.”

You laugh, but it’s bitter. “Fuck off, Dean. If you’re sorry, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

“I’m not– it’s not what you think, okay? Just leave it alone.” He says, and you clench your fist, frustrated.

“What the hell does that mean? You’re so annoying, Dean, I–”

He cuts you off before you can really give him a piece of your mind. He comes towards you and keeps going, until his hand is on your neck and his other arm is sliding around your waist, pushing you against the counter. “I told you. It’s not what you think.” He says, his voice gruff. 

You’re completely frozen, eyes wide, not sure if this is actually happening, or if you’re on so much cold medicine that you’re hallucinating. “What–”

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asks, his nose lingering along the curve of your jaw, his breath hot where it hits your face. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of waking up next to you, holding you, feeling every one of your curves pressed up against me?”

“Oh, god.” You say involuntarily, and it’s a breathy sound that if you had your wits about you, you’d be embarrassed about.

“And then,” he goes on, “I actually _do_ wake up next to you, and you give me this _look_ , like–” he swallows, “Like all you want in the world is for me to kiss you. But you’re hopped up on NyQuil, and have a fever, and germs, and–”

“You avoided me for an entire day because you wanted to kiss me, but _didn’t_ want to, because I have a cold?”

He pulls away from you and scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I guess.” 

You stare at him for a minute before pushing up on your toes and pressing your lips to his, feeling victorious at the way he inhales sharply. He responds slowly, such a contrast to the way he was clearly coming on to you a minute prior, so much so that you begin to pull away, embarrassed. 

Then his arms are there, holding you to him, and he’s shaking his head. “No, no. Don’t go, I– Sorry. Didn’t think you wanted–”

“Dean, shut up.” You tell him before pulling his head closer to yours, kissing him again.

This time he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer so your feet are barely on the ground, and he makes this _noise_ – somewhere between a moan and a groan that has you seeing stars. The way his mouth moves against yours should be illegal in at least five states, and you’re breathless when he slides his mouth to your neck, kissing and sucking softly on your pulse point.

“Bedroom.” You gasp out, and he makes a noise of discontent, but unlatches his lips from your skin and reaches behind him to take your hand as he stalks out of the kitchen, pulling you with him. 

He presses you up against the wall at least four times before the two of you actually make it to the bedroom, and when you get inside, your shirt is dangling off one arm, and his is gone somewhere in the hallway. He doesn’t seem to care.

He sits on the edge of the bed and tugs you into his lap, his hands threading through your hair and exposing your neck to him. You almost fall off his lap as you struggle to get your sweatpants down over your hips and knees, but he chuckles and holds you steady, his laugh fading away as you kiss your way down his chest, lingering on his abs. 

“Fuck.” He mutters as you get close to his hips, and he tugs you back up before you can slide to your knees before him. “Next time. Want you.” 

Time seems to blur for a second as he gets you out of the rest of your clothes, and then he’s holding you above him slightly, sliding into you slowly, your mouth falling open on a silent scream as he sets a slow, steady pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He groans, and his words cause heat to spike right to where you’re connected, and you clench around him. 

You know you’re not going to last, and you try to tell Dean, but you can hardly get the words out. He seems to be in the same position - his eyes screwed shut as he drives into you, his hard but slow thrusts making you dizzy. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He urges you, and the combination of his voice and the feelings he’s creating inside you send you over the edge. You stay there, clinging to him, in the aftermath, and he chuckles, his laugh breathless. “Can’t say I expected that.”

“No shit.” You say, still panting a little bit, but there’s a huge smile painted on your face. 

“You feeling okay? I didn’t hurt you?” He asks, his brow furrowed, and you shake your head. 

“No, I’m– God, Dean. I’m awesome.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

You both shower after, getting cleaned up, your headache returning and keeping you from doing otherwise more enjoyable things in the shower. He helps you get dressed as you start to get tired, and sits with you in your bed watching TV until you fall asleep, nuzzled against him. 

When he gets sick a few days later, you dote on him too, and smile when he tells you it was completely worth it.


End file.
